Sin Box
by Well39
Summary: Tumblr drabbles - M for a reason, please read with discretion. Pairings will vary.
1. Paid in Full - FRUK

Francis stared up at the man straddling him. They were seated on the couch, where Francis had been happily passed out until a heavy weight had settled in his lap.

"Um, look, I-"

"So how do you want it?" the man asked, businesslike.

"No, really, I…" he struggled to find words. "Gilbert!" Francis shouted. "Antonio!"

There was a distant cackle, and then the sound of the front door slamming shut. Francis's head whipped around, but it was too late. They were gone.

"You got protection, love?" The prostitute's hands were at his pants, unbuckling Francis' belt with practiced speed. His fly was down in a matter of seconds.

"Yes, of course I - _Jesus you're fast_ \- wait, no. No, we can't." Francis sat up, pushing the man back. What was he doing? He didn't need to pay for sex. "Look, I'm sorry, but there's been a mistake."

The man raised one outrageous eyebrow. "No mistakes here hon."

"Those two, they put you up to this, right?" Francis ran a hand through his hair, a nervous tick.

"Paid in full." The man nodded. "Someone's a lucky birthday boy."

Francis laughed, then swore. He was going to get them for this. "Well, thank you for your time, but I really…" his voice trailed off for the second time that night. "What are you doing?"

The man was stripping. He shook out his short blond hair as the heavy black jacket he'd been wearing fell to the ground. "I've been paid," he said, by way of explanation. The next thing to go was his ripped singlet, and Francis gulped at the sight of the man's pierced nipples.

It didn't go unnoticed.

"You like that." The man gave him an appraising glance, stroking a hand over his own chest so his fingers trailed upwards, almost touching the small metal rings. Francis' eyes followed involuntarily as the fingers made their way up, brushing over more piercings in the man's ears, one in his lip, and slipping inside his mouth. The prostitute licked up a finger, revealing a silver ball in his tongue, holding Francis' eyes with his own.

Oh good god.

"How about," the man said, dragging the now wet finger down his neck to fiddle with the rings on his chest, "we have a test run? Before you decide I'm not worth your time."

"A test run," Francis repeated dumbly, refusing to let his eyes drift lower.

The man grinned, shifting how he sat in his lap. Francis closed his eyes for a second, knowing it was on purpose, but unable to stop his blood rushing towards his bottom half.

"One question," Francis managed.

"Yes?" asked the man, rocking back and forth slowly, a smirk in his voice.

"What's your name? What do I call you?"

"Monty Python," came the amused answer.

Francis's eye's flickered open, and he laughed. "Really?"

The man leaned in and brushed his lips against Francis' ear. "Really," he murmured. Francis shivered. "Although, I suppose that's not something you'd want to call during sex." He licked along the lobe and sat back. "You can call me Arthur."

One of Arthur's hands had drifted down behind him, to the open fly, and was rubbing Francis' hardening erection. It twitched under his hand, and Arthur smiled. Then he was up, off the couch, and out of Francis' lap.

"Where are you-" Francis gasped as Arthur knelt between his legs and pulled his cock free. "Are you really sure - Jesus _fuck!_ " Francis' head fell back as Arthur's mouth closed over his erection. Any thoughts of making him stop blew away as his mind became addled with pleasure.

He was good. Holy shit was he good.

Arthur hollowed his cheeks as he bobbed his head, hands working where his mouth couldn't reach. Francis suppressed a moan, but Arthur was having none of that. He hummed, taking Francis deeper into his throat, letting the vibrations envelope him. Glancing up, he met Francis' wide eyes, noting the hand clamped over his mouth. Arthur bobbed his head a few more times, before releasing him to kiss at the tip. His tongue flicked out, catching the beading pre-cum. Francis bit the inside of his cheek when he felt the ball of the piecing graze the slit.

Arthur watched him with lidded eyes as he licked a line down the underside of his cock, letting his stud roll down the hard muscle. The sounds coming from his mouth were obscene. Francis was breathing hard now, other hand clenched in the material of the couch. Arthur took him in again, keeping his tongue moving as his hands wandered lower, cupping Francis' balls, and Francis' hips moved involuntarily. He gave in and moaned.

Arthur began to suck harder, letting his teeth graze the shaft. The inside of his mouth was hot and wet, saliva slipping out the corners, glistening there on his lips. He pressed his tongue flat against the erection, the piercing warm as he wrapped his lips tighter around it. Francis moaned again as Arthur dragged his tongue up the base and swirled it over the head. He was close. So close.

Arthur's hands travelled up, over his thighs, and gripped Francis' hips, holding him in place. Francis hadn't even realised he'd been moving, but now, with the control taken from him, he was completely at Arthur's mercy. His breath caught. Arthur took him all the way in, moaned the smallest noise, and he was gone.

Arthur stilled, mouth still closed around him, then leaned back, lips coming off with a pop. He swallowed. There was a string of drool and cum at the edge of his mouth, and he ran his tongue over it, stud glinting silver in the light.

Francis stared at him. "Are those all the piercings you have?" he croaked out, voice hoarse.

"Hmm…" Arthur moved to resume his seat on Francis' lap. "Depends on how far you're willing to go." He tugged on the tie securing Francis' hair and pulled it free, letting the blond locks fall over his shoulders. Arthur smiled, slow and sultry. "Ready to see what I can really do?"

Francis gaped.


	2. Hips Don't Lie - Spamano

Song and ship request asking for nsfw. My nemesis.

Idk bruh

* * *

Romano wasn't quite sure why he had decided to come out to the club this particular night, but the place was packed. He had only wanted to get out of the house and away from Feliciano and his fawning over the potato bastard. Spain hadn't been available when he called, and he didn't really have any other ideas for places to go. He found himself a little overwhelmed with the flashing lights, pounding music, and close press of bodies. Seeking an escape, he maneuverered his way into a corner, clutching his drink tight in his hands. From there he could stay still and observe without getting in anyone's way.

Watching the pulsing crowd, he snorted at a group of teenagers, looking around them with a kind of awe. Next to them was a couple completely ignoring the music and making out, faces stuck so close together he couldn't tell where one person ended and the other began. Shuddering, he averted his eyes and went back to scanning the throng. His gaze was drawn to a particularly rowdy corner of the dance floor, where a small group had started a disorganized conga line. Romano scoffed into his drink, but then he caught sight of a tell-tale flash of white hair and almost choked.

Was that Prussia? It was. He looked closer, discovering the man Gilbert was practically strangling was, in actuality, France.

Which meant that the person at the head of the line, arms up in the air, goofy grin plastered on his stupid face, was Spain.

Romano gritted his teeth. So this is what he'd been doing. This is where he'd gone, without so much as a note left on the door. Romano swallowed his annoyance along with the rest of his drink, knowing full well he was being unfair. But he didn't care. Who was Spain, to come out here to a place full of women, and look like he was having so much goddamned _fun_. Without Romano.

And that was what hurt. The fact that Spain hadn't thought to ask him along, even when he knew how much Romano hated being left with the two love-birds back at home.

Stupid asshole.

" _Hello_ sexy, where you been all my life?" The voice interrupted his thoughts.

Romano didn't even spare the man a glance. "Get lost fuckwad."

"Hey now, and I was gonna offer you a drink, too."

Romano sighed, ready to bite the guys head off, but then he reconsidered. He really did feel like some alcohol at the moment. "A drink, huh?"

The man's face lit with eagerness. "Anything you want, sweet-cheeks!"

"Don't call me that," Romano said. "And I want something strong."

* * *

Spain disengaged himself from the conga line, waving goodbye to the ladies he'd been dancing with, and dragged France and Prussia out of the crowd. There was a table at the edge of the dance floor and the three of them collapsed into the seats, sweaty and breathless.

"You see, mon ami?" France said, throwing an arm over Spain's shoulder. "I told you this would be fun."

Spain laughed. "Of course, you are always right."

Prussia leaned across the table to speak. "Well, what about that awesome move I pulled, huh? You're not gonna see that staring at a wall."

"Ah, the 'back-flip'," France said dryly. "Yes, that was a roaring success with the poor boy you landed on."

Spain grinned as Prussia attempted to defend himself. He had tried to stay home lately, in case Romano got sick of things at his house and decided to visit, but it was good to get out one in a while.

"…and another thing," Prussia huffed, "I am in no way - holy shit." His eyes widened, fixed on something over their shoulders.

"Language, Gilbert." France raised an eyebrow.

Speechless, Prussia pointed to the dance floor, and his friends turned to look. At first, Spain didn't know what he was supposed to be looking at, but then he saw it.

Romano was there. Not only was he there, but he was dancing, and Romano _never_ danced. Spain watched in disbelief as a man came up behind him and slid his hands around Romano's waist, and Romano didn't kill him. In fact, he swung his hips in time with his partner, and let a small smile slip as he flicked his hair out of his eyes.

Francis whistled. "What do you know, the boy can do it if he tries."

"Isn't that Italy's brother?" Prussia stood on the chair, trying to get a better view. "Maybe he's here too."

Spain ignored them, his fists clenching in his lap. Romano had begun sliding down the man's front in time to the music. His partner looked like he couldn't believe his luck as the small Italian shimmied his way back up. The man yanked Romano closer, his eye's travelling over the tight clothes with hunger.

"Toni?"

Spain realised his nails had drawn blood, and slowly un-clenched his hands. France eyed him warily as he stood.

"I think I'm gonna call it a night," he said, his voice calm.

"Don't hurt him," Prussia cackled. He didn't specify to whom he was referring.

Spain didn't respond, already halfway across the dance floor. His pulse thrummed in his ears, almost blocking out the sound of the music.

The man glanced up as he approached, but his attention was quickly diverted as Romano rubbed his hips along his leg.

"Lovino."

The boy didn't hear him, and if he did, he was ignored. Spain reached out and grabbed Romano's arm, pulling him away from the man, who let out a shout of disappointment. Spain's eye's darkened as he looked at him, and he shot the man a glare. Quailing, the dancer held up his hands and backed away.

"What the fuck, Spain?" Romano attempted to twist out of his grasp, but Spain held tight. "Let go!"

Spain gazed down at him, silent. Romano's cheeks were flushed, and he smelled of alcohol. His hair stuck to his forehead with sweat, and it darkened the tight t-shirt he wore.

"Oi, bastard." Romano glared at him. "I said, what the fuck?"

"We're going home."

* * *

Spain was silent in the taxi, ignoring the storm of insults and questions from the man beside him. Romano followed him when he left the vehicle, and didn't stop talking at him even as he unlocked the front door. Yet as soon as they were inside, Spain pushed him up against the wall.

"What was that?" Spain's voice was dangerously low. "In the club, with that man. What was that?"

"What did it look like? I was dancing!" Romano said, defensive.

Images of what he'd seen flashed through Spain's mind. "Do you dance with everyone that way, then?" he growled. "Do you also invite them home afterwards? Cause it seems like I'm missing out on something."

Romano gaped. "Is that what this is?" He shook his head. "You're jealous, _you_ , when you had about ten women hanging off your arms."

Spain blinked. He hadn't expected Romano to turn the conversation on its head like that. But the little Italian wasn't finished.

"You have no right," he continued, "to be jealous. Not after I come over to see you and you're not here. Not when I go to the club and find you dancing around with your stupid handsome face and your stupid friends, and _definitely_ not when I decide maybe I would like to have a bit of fun too, for one night."

Tears gathered in Romano's eyes, and Spain pulled back, utterly baffled as to how it had come to this. The sudden shift in emotions left him with whiplash.

"Lovi, Lovi, I'm sorry, don't cry," Spain looked around, frantic, but found nothing to help. Desperate, he pulled the other into his arms and stroked his hair. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"Stupid España," Romano sniffed, his hands balling in the fabric of Spain's shirt. "I would never bring anyone home but you."

Spain's hand stilled in Romano's hair, shocked by the sudden honesty, until he remembered Romano was drunk. Then he chuckled. "Me too Lovi. I'm sorry."

"Ngh."

They stayed like that for a moment, Spain once again stroking his lover's head.

"Hey, Spain?" Romano broke the silence.

"Yeah?

"Kiss me?"

The tentative question once more left the older man reeling.

Romano tilted his head up, his watery eyes and flushed cheeks like a wrecking ball to Spain's self-control. He leaned down and pressed their lips together, intending to pull away. When Romano twined his arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, Spain tried to resist, but he could feel his will fading fast.

" _España_ ," Romano moaned into his mouth.

There went the last of his restraint.

Spain picked him up, not allowing their lips to break apart. He pushed Romano against the wall and slid a knee between his legs. Romano responded to his touch, leaning into him with a pant that went straight to his groin. Spain worked at untucking the shirt from his lover's tight jeans, sliding his hands over the soft skin of the boy's stomach. Romano tangled his hands in his hair and rubbed up against the leg that was supporting him, earning a strangled growl. As Spain tugged the cloth over his head, it caught on the Italian's curl and he squeaked, his face flushing an even deeper shade of red.

"Mierda," Spain cursed. Romano had gone limp in his arms, his breathing ragged.

Taking the opportunity to move things to the bedroom, Spain lifted him into his arms and carried him down the hall. Placing Romano down onto the bed, he crossed to the dresser, undoing the buttons of his shirt as went. He found the tube of lubricant, and turned to see Romano pulling at the ends of his jeans.

Spain grinned, moving forward and taking the pants out of his hands. He drew the jeans down slowly, placing kisses along each new centimetre of skin revealed until they were puddled on the floor. Romano writhed under him, impatient, but Spain took his time, working his way back up. He enjoyed the way Romano's breath hitched as he pressed a kiss to the skin of his hip, and lingered there, sucking persistently until a red mark showed when he pulled away.

"Stop teasing me, asshole," Romano said, his voice husky with want.

Spain gave a throaty laugh. It's not like he could hold on much longer anyway.

He savoured each and every moment. The feeling of Romano's arms tightening around his neck. The way he arched against him. The sweet smell of his skin, a mix of soap and musk and something else that was purely Romano. Their bodies moved together, lilting sighs and desperate cries mixing in the haze. Romano's nails left tracks on the skin of Spain's back, and he moaned into his ear. Spain's hips pounded faster, deeper as they neared climax.

Romano called his name, and it sent him over the edge.

* * *

The next morning, he awoke to the sensation of fingers tracing over the back of his hand, and smiled into the pillow. Romano kissed each of the tiny half-moon wounds on Spain's palms. The sound of passing cars drifted in through the open window.

"I didn't know you could dance like that," Spain murmured. "Let's do it again?"

Romano blushed furiously. "I was drunk, okay?"

"Mmm…" Spain sat up and leaned over, pressing their noses together. His eyes sparkled. "I kinda liked it."

Romano raised an eyebrow.

"Just not with other men," he amended.


End file.
